|
Publication Date 8-27-09 One problem with driving in Canada is that the overpass height signs are all metric. It makes me glad I'm not driving a big RV. I'm just not that good at math. I'm pretty sure I'd be driving along, doing the math in my head, “Let's see, 4.43 meters times 39 inches to the meter divided by 12 inches to the foot…” and “CRUNCH” my rooftop air conditioner would be turned into a sunroof. Another issue is that the mileage markers are all in kilometers. That can make for some discouragingly large distances, particularly in a place like Canada, which is very large. Strike that. Canada isn't large, it's ginormous. And not only is the road from Vancouver to Banff big horizontally, there's a lot of verticality to it, too. I'm not used to driving in mountains. I get a little dizzy at the top of the steps going into our house, so mountain driving can be a bit of a challenge for me. The problems as I see them? First, there's that whole…dying… possibility, but in addition to that, there's the knowledge that if I did drive off the edge, I'd have several minutes to scream before hitting the ground below. The easiest way to not be scared would be to close my eyes, but that seems like a mistake. I could drive a lot slower, but then I'd run the risk of being passed by a bicyclist peddling up the side of the mountain. That was a big surprise to me, the number of people riding bicycles up mountain roads. I began to refer to them, fondly, as “freaks.” As in, “Oh good Lord, look at those freaks!” Here's the thing about people who bicycle across country: I've never seen one of them smiling. If just once I saw a guy in Spandex, wearing one of those funny helmets, loaded down with about three hundred pounds of gear, his legs spinning like a cake mixer as he worked his way up the mountain, complete with a big smile on his face, I'd give that whole means of transportation some consideration. Me, I smile a lot when I'm driving. My wife and I sing along with the radio, tell stories, and every few seconds I ask her to pass me another piece of licorice. Now that's traveling. In Glacier Park we took the “Going to the Sun Road.” That was very well named. It's about as close to the sun as you can get without actually leaving earth's atmosphere. Oddly enough, at the entrance to the park, 1500 miles from home, we ran into our next door neighbors. They looked a little discouraged to see us – there's always the possibility that they left home to get away from us, so I don't really blame them for being upset. “Going to the Sun Road” is about three and a half feet wide. When I was a kid I remember watching stunt cars at the county fair drive around the track up on two wheels. I did a lot of wishing that I had I had that skill. It was the most spectacular scenery I've ever seen, and it was enhanced by road construction. Big chunks of the road were being rebuilt, so the narrow two lane road was sometimes a narrow, one way, gravel road. You know the road signs the workers hold up that say “STOP” and “SLOW?” Well, I had no problem with the “Stop” sign (I had no real desire to meet a gravel truck coming the other way), but I was already going slow. I think they needed four-sided signs. “Stop”, “Slow”, “Really slow” and “Ridiculously Slow” seem about right. Well, we made it down the other side, after a near head on collision with a bighorn sheep, and I was glad to be done with mountain driving. All we had left was Yellowstone Park, the Rockies, the Madison, Absaroka and Gallatin Ranges, the Bighorns, and the Black Hills. Oh well. Copyright 2009 Brent Olson Brent Olson |
